


Nightmare

by IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, With some happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19771249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow/pseuds/IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow
Summary: Based on the prompt: "Hey, hey...it's only me."





	Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the-girl-who-didnt-make-anysense](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the-girl-who-didnt-make-anysense).



> Thanks to the-girl-who-didnt-make-anysense for sending me this prompt! 
> 
> There are some descriptions of someone tossing their cookies in this fic, so if that's not your thing...fair warning.

She wakes with a start, springing up in bed and gasping for breath. Her heart beats erratically as if it were attempting to escape the confines of her chest, and her silk camisole clings to her sweat-soaked skin. Bedelia remembers the scene with eidetic clarity. He is above her, amber gleaming in his eyes like whiskey, smoothing back her hair and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. _‘Darling,_ ’ he says softly, before a mask is applied over her face and he reaches for instruments.

Bedelia slowly gains control of her heartrate, remembers to take deep breaths instead of shallow pants. She reminds herself to be rational. _A nightmare_ , she thinks. _Only a nightmare_. She must be sure. Flipping back the duvet reveals her legs. Her thighs glisten with sweat and are covered with goosebumps, but they are _hers_. There is no blood-soaked gauze, no honied remnants of her flesh atop the table while he makes references to _savoring_ her. The realization releases the tension she didn’t realize she was holding. Her jaw and shoulders relax, her head dropping in relief so that her chin nearly reaches her chest.

She swallows thickly, trying to rid her mouth and throat of the acidic taste of bile. She wants to call out for him, wants his comfort, but then she remembers the argument that likely caused her mind to produce such a nightmare.

Bedelia slowly glides her legs over the side of the bed and rests her feet on the floor, forgoing the baby blue slippers for the feeling of the hardwood floors on _both_ of her feet. Padding across the room, she realizes her customary water glass is missing from the bathroom, likely taken to be washed. She thinks of cupping the water in her hands, forgoing a glass all together and simply returning to bed, but the queasiness in her stomach says otherwise. She needed her nausea pills.

Slipping silently across the darkened apartment, she tries to put the argument behind her, but finds she can’t. The way he _looked_ at her, before storming out of the house earlier sent shivers up her spine. She had _never_ seen that look directed at her and it was unsettling. And _dinner_. He had served her oysters, acorns, and marsala. _Meat is back on the menu_ she hears Will Graham taunt.

Briefly, Bedelia thinks about packing a bag, but knows it would be a mistake.

Her brain is still racing with thoughts and memories that she does not hear him approach. _It was only a nightmare,_ she repeats internally like a mantra, but it fails, the more cynical side of her brain tagging _for now_ onto every line. When the glass is finally filled she reaches to turn off the faucet as arms reach around her torso.

 _‘No_ ’ she gasps, adrenaline suddenly racing through her veins. She bucks her body back and makes a lunge for the counter-top knives, dropping the glass. But she isn’t fast enough. The glass shatters at her bare feet and he spins her around before she can reach her intended weapon.

Hannibal lets her go immediately and takes a step back, his hands raised in apparent surrender.

“Hey, hey…it’s just me,” he says reassuringly.

He tries to take in the situation, eyes briefly darting around her disheveled appearance and the kitchen. Noticing the pills on the counter, he realizes she must feel sick. Despite their argument earlier, he still felt the need to take care of her. Taking a cautious step toward her, he tries to comfort her.

“Bedelia, are you unwell?” he asks, reaching a hand up to smooth a strand of hair from her face “ _Darling-_ ”

The scene surges through her mind and her stomach lurches.

She turns quickly and vomits into the sink, expelling the dinner meant to better flavor her flesh. Hannibal is immediately by her side, sweeping her hair back with one hand and rubbing soothing circles into her back with the other. 

When her shoulders begin to shake in what he assumes are dry-heaves, he reaches to lightly tug her up from the sink, finally noticing the glass around her feet. He wants nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and carry her to the chase.

He stops still. She was crying.

“ _Delia_ ,” he says gently, trying to get her attention.

Her back arches one more time and she heaves yellow bile, an indication that her stomach was finally completely empty. She softly moans, and her body goes slack, knees wobbling at the exertion. He helps her into a kitchen chair and rushes out of the room for his medical bag.

When he returns, Hannibal kneels immediately to investigate her for injury.

“Why did you make that dinner for _me_?”

He meets her eyes and realizes she still looks uneasy. She had hurt him earlier; their argument had picked off his deepest most insecurities and exposed him. His juvenile attempt to get under her skin had worked. Only he realized that the subtle shake in her hand as she brought the food into her mouth at dinner was not defiance or anger.

She was frightened of him.

“I was angry,” he says plainly, shame creeping through his body.

“And now?” Her voice is barely above a whisper and sounds so unlike her.

He takes her hand in his, noticing the slightly lighter line where her wedding ring usually rested. He softly rubs the spot with his thumb, realizing finally how deeply he has hurt her. A once not-so-subtle taunt that made her _squirm_ before she readily threw back at him, was now a _threat._ In another lifetime, he could live fine without her, giving in instead to his urges to _taste_ her. _And now?_ He couldn’t imagine his life without her. Nothing prepared him for the privilege of being hers, of the warmth of loving her and being loved.

“I am sorry.”

She looks deeply into his eyes, seeing that they belong to the man she _knows_ , the man she _loves_. Bedelia knows that he is dangerous, and yet she cannot help but yearn for him, and hope with her entire being that her love is _enough_.

She gives him a subtle nod in acceptance, as he takes her foot delicately into his palm, inspecting it for injury. When he realizes she has somehow avoided injury from the glass, he sighs in relief, taking her foot into both of his hands and instead beginning to gently massage it. She hums lightly and closes her eyes.

Later when they lay in bed together, she is pressed against his chest, her breaths deep and relaxed. Hannibal slides his fingers lazily through her thick, blonde hair, remembering his promise to protect her. He would not break it again, even if it meant protecting her from himself.

**Author's Note:**

> So, when I'm thinking about Bedelia after at the end of the series, I can't help but think that she still has a lingering feeling that Hannibal wants to eat her. Hannibal too, still has urges. How would she process that? In my canon, her time with Hannibal has made her sensitive to food and although she loves him (and he loves her), she still has nightmares (e.g., the stinger scene) about him turning on her.


End file.
